


Dotty Learns To Drive

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Hispano-Suiza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Who will teach Mrs. Dorothy Collins how to drive?





	1. Act 1

It was a lovely Spring day in Melbourne.  Flowers were blooming, birds were singing. Up in hills, the boy wombats were waiting for twilight so they could leave their burrows and go find eligible girl wombats for wombat frolicing.

None of this concerned Miss Phryne Fisher at the moment.

"Great!  That's the way to shift gears," cheered Miss Fisher from the passenger seat of the Hispano Suiza.

"I hope I get smoother with practice."  Dotty held the wheel tightly in her gloved hands as she eased the car around the turn. 

"Of course!  The road straightens out here...put it in 3rd gear and see how fast you can go."

Mrs Collins stuck out her tongue as she managed the clutch pedal, the shifter, and the accelerator to end up in 3rd gear.

The Hispano's engine roared over the wind noise, and the trees flew by in a really unsettling way.

"Is this fast enough, miss?"  Dorthy hoped her hat pins were going to keep doing their job.  She was fond of this hat, and there was quite a lot of wind just now.

"Dot, Is the gas pedal on the floor?" yelled Phryne.


	2. Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, maybe Phryne's instincts aren't the best.

"Constable, your job is to log all these traffic tickets that were issued today."

....

The wombats didn't hear those instructions.  They sniffed the evening air, and proceeded leave piles of rectangular poop to mark territory.  That business taken care of,  the hunt for wombat love began.

...

Senior Constable Collins had his own pile of paperwork.  He was usually more diligent, and sincerely wanted to be a good example for the new kid, but Constable Ryan was sharing Collins' space behind the counter, and a terrible fidgeter.

"Ha ha!  Look at this one... Some lady in a Hispano Suiza was speeding!  What do you think, Collins?" 

"Oh, Miss Fisher is sometimes a bit too casual about that sort of thing," muttered Collins.

"Miss Fisher wasn't the driver.  You wll never guess!" Constable Ryan's gleeful tone was enough to make Collins look up.  Ryan was waving the ticket like a flag.

"Give me that!.... Ryan jumped out of his chair and ducked under Collins' arm 

"Says here "Mrs. Dorthy Collins was driving!  Whats the matter? Can't keep the woman in line?" 

Constable Collins was considering the merits of a sharp put-down versus a fist to Ryan's face.  He was confident he could land the punch, but didn't think he would survive a DI Robinson lecture about the need for a Senior Constable to develop his leadership skills.

The movement of a door opening caught Collins' eye, and he wisely stood at attention.  "Inspector!"

Detective Inspector Robinson strolled out of his office with a casual saunter that seemed a little bit forced to Collins.  He came to a halt in front of Constable Ryan and the open logbook.  

"Women drivers, eh?" said Ryan with a grin that slowly deflated as the Inspector fixed him with expressionless eyes.

Robinson held out his hand, and received the ticket in question.  As he read, Collins identified a quick flash of frustration, followed by an eyebrow twitch that may have indicated surprise.  The inspector tipped his head slightly sideways, then returned the ticket to Constable Ryan.

"Constable Ryan, your task is to log the tickets, not comment on them. Please continue."

"Yessir."  Constable Ryan picked up his pen bent his head over the logbook.

Robinson slid down to the other end of the counter.  "Collins, has Mrs. Collins ever hinted to you that she wanted to learn to drive?"  

"Yes, but we don't have a car.  That it would have to wait, sir."  

"Tomorrow is your day off, yes?  I'll loan you my car.  Mrs. Collins can practice, and you can teach her to be a careful, safe, and law-abiding driver." The inspector offered a quick twitch of a smile and slid a key across the desk.

"Thank you, sir!"  Collins accepted the key and stood a bit straighter.  

"Sometimes, Collins, we need to work together to fight Miss Fisher's bad influence."


	3. Interlude with Wombats

He wasn't the biggest wombat, or the strongest wombat.  But he was careful, and clever for a wombat, and persistant.

The sun was down, and the moon was bright.  He left tracks in the river mud.  Big pawpads, heavy claws... So many reasons for a wombat to dig holes.  Cozy burrows, tasty underground things, pesky fences... 

The mud held another set of wombat prints.  These were tiny, dainty.  He put his nose to the mud and sniffed.  The scent was excitingly female, and completely unfamiliar.  He knew most of the local wombats, and this was none of them.  He could not resist another inhale.  This required investigation. She required investigation.

....  
Dorothy Collins was dreaming about gear shifts and a clutch pedal and traffic tickets and angry traffic cops.  She woke up, very briefly to their moonlit bedroom. The sound of Hugh's steady breathing was a calming influence, and slowly pushed the words of the dream traffic cop out of her head.  She rolled over, cuddled up to her policeman, and happily went back to sleep.    
...

While Dotty Collins slept,  the wombat ventured out into the moonlit countryside, following the small footprints. 

There was her scent again.  His wombat brain could not imagine anything lovelier.  With his nose twitching, he followed her trail into the shade of the trees.  The scent of ferns, tree sap, and night-blooming flowers was thick, but could not obscure the trail. 

He pushed aside a small bush, and his eyes were dazzled by the moonlight on the grass.  The breeze brought her scent, so much closer than before.  Perhaps that brown furry shape was her.  He shook himself to fluff his fur,  which had been somewhat rumpled by the ferns and other forest growth.

He approached, cautiously.  

She turned to face him, watching him with dark, liquid eyes.  Her nose twitched, and she huffed softly.

He was close, now.  Her fur was sleek, and dark, and elegant.  Her scent, up close, was intoxicating.  

Suddenly, she let out a snort, turned, and scampered away.

He leaped after her, toenails digging into the sod for traction.  His efforts broght him closer to her round, symmetrical, wombat hindquarters, and the sharp claws of her hind feet as she ran.

She took a sharp turn, and he scrambled to follow.  His hind feet slid sideways in the dust. Then he was upside down, paws in the air, and the sound of his racing heartbeat in his ears.

She reappeared, nose pushed between tufts of grass, and sniffed him again.  Of course, her fur was still perfect.

He twisted to get his paws back underneath his stocky wombat body.  He shook the dirt out of his fur, and scratched behind his ear with rear claws.  

...and she was off again, and he was after her.  He was going to play the game the way she wanted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This wasn't going to be a chapter, but the wombat insisted.
> 
> 2) Internet sources say "chase me" is, in fact, wombat foreplay.  Followed by biting.


	4. Act 3

The Collins' flat had a tiny kitchen, which had a tiny window overlooking the street.  However, the kitchen was as tidy and spotless as the new Mrs. Collins could make it, and currently smelled of toast and tea.

Dotty set one mug of tea in front of each place, next to the plate with eggs and buttered toast. 

"I'm sorry about the speeding ticket, Hugh."  She sat down in her chair, which was an arm's reach from the stove.  Her eyes were on her fork, and the corners of her mouth turned down.  "I don't want my driving to embarrass you."

"It's alright, Dotty.  You maybe have gotten too much used to Miss Fisher's idea of a reasonable speed."  He patted her hand.

"She does drive like she's still behind the wheel of an ambulance in France." She smiled, a tiny one.

"France isn't even like that anymore," Hugh pointed out, waving a piece of toast for emphasis. Not that he had ever been to France, or was ever likely to...

"I think she does everything like that," said Dorothy, thoughtfully. "She either does it all the way, or not at all."

"The driving certainly gets her in a lot of trouble," observed Hugh.

Dotty nodded in agreement, and picked up her tea.

"So, where are we going?"  Dorothy took a sip of tea, and regarded her husband over the top edge of the mug.

Hugh slid his plate sideways, and unfolded a street map of Melbourne.

....

The tired wombat waddled into his burrow.  The sun was fully above the horizon, and it would be uncomfortably warm soon.  The burrow was lovely and cool.  He crept along the upward slope of the tunnel to his nest, and flopped onto the pile of leaves.  

He rolled over, stretched happily, and fell asleep with his paws in the air.  
....

"At the next intersection,"  said Hugh, "is the first electric traffic light in Australia.  Got put in two years ago.  Stop if the red light is on."

As they approched, the green lens went dark.  The red lit up, and Dorothy slowed the car gently.  This time, she rembered to put in the clutch and shift into neutral before the engine stalled.

The cross traffic on Collins street sped through the intersection, as North-bound cars lined up behind Dotty and Hugh in their borrowed car.

Eventually, the intersection was clear, although the traffic light was still a stubborn red.

A horn sounded.  Dotty looked at the traffic light,  then at Hugh.  The driver behind them was waving angrily.

Hugh leaned out the passenger window, made eye contact with the driver, and waved cheerily, showing the stripes on his uniform sleeve.

The silence was immensely gratifying.

The light went green, and Dotty put the car in gear.  She pulled calmly away from the line.

Soon, Hugh directed her to turn right, and they headed East, across Russell street, and then away from busy downtown Melbourne.

...

Some time later, the roads began to take on a more rural character.  The grid pattern of the city had become gently winding roads, between plowed fields and pasture, with an occasional orchard for variety.  

The sun was high in the sky now, and Constable Collins was beginning to resent his wool uniform, especially the collar.  His lovely wife looked quite comfortable in her light-colored coat, but didn't she always look perfect?

"The map says take the next right, Dotty."  

"Here it is, Hugh.  The sign says Mountain Highway."  She slowed the car, brakes and clutch and a downshift. "I can't see the mountain."

The two of them looked into the trees.  Enormous trees shaded ferns and bushes and smaller trees.  Brightly colored birds called to each other and flitted from branch to branch.

"The map says there is a mountain somewhere over there," Hugh muttered, examining the map.  "The road has lots of turns as the elevation changes."

Soon, they were under the trees, and the air was a bit cooler.

Dorothy slowed even more for the first turn, as the narrow but well-maintained dirt road made a sudden reversal in direction.

"Uh, Dotty, do we have enough money to pay for four tires?"

"I think so, Hugh.  Why?"

"Because this is the perfect road to learn to do a 4 wheel drift, and I think I am going to need to buy the inspector a new set of tires when we are done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The internet says the first electric traffic signal in Australia was installed at the intersection of Collins and Swanston Streets in Melbourne, in 1928.  
> 
> 2) I read several linguistics articles (thanks, Wikipedia) on spelling and word usage variation between the United States of America, the United Kingdom, and Australia.  I think Aussies spell "tyre" like the Brits do, not "tire" like the Americans, but there are so many other ways that I've probably outed myself as an American that I am officially giving up. 


End file.
